I Shall Not Want

Mayor Cameron's smile glazed over. He looked from Russ, to Clare, then back at Russ. 'I think it's smart to attract the right sort of people. Older couples who want to spend money and then go home at a reasonable hour. Not like the god-awful crowds we get at the Riverside Park on the Fourth of July, eh, Russ?'

Russ looked over the mayor's head at the well-heeled dancers swinging to Glenn Miller. 'I don't think we'll have any broken beer bottles or fistfights with this group, no.'

Lena tugged on her husband's arm. 'Come on, I want to dance. Oh, and tell Chief Van Alstyne he can't just stand like a stuffed bear. There are never enough men to go around. He must dance once or twice.' She smiled up at Russ. 'You must dance with some of the single ladies.' She winked at Clare. 'Since I don't think you'll be loaning out your date for the cause.'

Mayor Cameron dragged her away in what was either a passion to dance or a fervor of embarrassment.

'String of Pearls' ended. The crowd clapped. 'So,' Russ said. 'Hugh's here.'

'Thank you very much!' Curtis Maurand said. 'This next one's for all you guys and gals who were in the armed services. It's called 'American Patrol.' ' The band blew out a full-fledged jitterbug.

'He's staying at the Stuyvesant Inn,' she said, then mentally kicked herself. She didn't have to explain anything to Russ.

He made a rumbling noise in his chest. It sounded to her like disapproval.

Pricked, she said, 'Of course, if it gets too late, I could always put him up at the rectory. I'm sure I have a spare toothbrush somewhere.'

Russ slanted a look at her. 'Why not? He could room with Amado.'

She couldn't help it. The thought of Hugh's face, confronted with the temporary sexton and the guest room, made her laugh. 'Poor Hugh,' she said. 'That certainly would not be what he was expecting.'

'No one expects the Spanish Inquisition,' Russ quoted, which made her snort, which was how Hugh found them.

'Vicar,' he said, taking her hand and kissing it. 'You look like the proverbial long cool woman in a red dress.' He glanced at Russ. 'Chief Van Alstyne. Imagine my surprise at seeing you here.'

'Mr. Parteger.'

'Isn't all that unrelieved polyester hot on a night like this?'

'You sure notice a lot about clothes. I bet you're real good at home decorating, too.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

Russ's face was bland. The jitterbug ended, and the band segued into 'Step-pin' Out with My Baby.'

'Gosh,' Clare said pointedly. 'I love this song.'

Hugh redrew his expression into something more pleasant. 'Of course, Vicar. By all means, let's dance.' He paused, as if a thought had just occurred to him. 'Unless,' he said to Russ, 'you'd like to escort Clare onto the dance floor.' He swept one arm toward the low wooden platforms that had been bolted together over the largest wedge of the park that afternoon. 'After all, you're free to ask her now, aren't you?'

Clare would have killed Hugh, except that she was caught, stomach clenched, wondering what Russ would say. Loathing herself for hoping like a girl at a middle-school dance.

He stood very still. Finally he said, 'I'm on duty.' He nodded to her. 'Enjoy yourself.' Then he walked away, leaving Hugh looking triumphant and Clare wishing she were a lesbian. Maybe then she'd never have to deal with male idiocy again.

II

That damn skimpy red dress drew his eye all night long. He patrolled the edges of the park, exchanging hellos and commenting on the weather and answering the few folks brave enough to ask questions about the so-called Cossayuharie Killer. And all the time, he kept spotting her, like a flame in the dark. He saw Parteger begging and begging hard after that stunt he pulled, following her around like a dog while she flitted from parishioner to parishioner. The Brit eventually hit on the right apology or wore her down, because she let him dance with her.

She wasn't a great dancer, not like some of the older women on the floor who had learned to swing and foxtrot back in the white-glove days, but damn, she looked like she was having fun with it. Between dances with Parteger, she partnered Norm Madsen and Robert Corlew and even Geoff Burns, who managed to look semihuman, twirling Clare past the gazebo.

She started smiling-really smiling, not just being polite-and then she started to laugh, and he swore he could hear her laugh over the music and the talk and the dull rumble of the traffic, rerouted through streets a block away.

Linda would have liked this. She would have laughed like that and danced like that and pushed her hair off the nape of her neck like that-such a tender, intimate gesture in a public place, and then he realized he was thinking about Linda and about Clare, holding them both in his mind at the same time, and he waited for the bitter black weight to come over him and it didn't. He felt a lingering sadness, like the clarinet line, but he also felt the excitement of the brass, and he caught a glimpse of a realization, that something of Linda, in some way, survived in Clare, but he couldn't get a handle on the wisp of a thought and his concentration was busted by the growl and crunch of one of his patrol cars, slipping up the street and pulling in next to the park's fire hydrant.

His deputy chief stepped out of the cruiser. 'Hey,' he said.

'What are you doing here?'

'What am I doing here? What're you still doing here? You were scheduled to go off duty an hour ago. I figured you forgot to call in.'

'Huh. Guess I lost track of the time.'

Lyle shoved his hands in his pockets as he joined Russ. 'Bucking for overtime won't do you any good, y'know. You're on salary. That's why you wouldn't catch me taking your job.'

'You wouldn't take my job because you might actually have to show up for work during hunting season.'

'Yeah, well, there is that.' Lyle looked between the trees to where the dancers were going around to 'Begin the Beguine.' 'How're things goin'?'

'Nobody dragged off to a shallow grave yet. Although the night's still young. What's happening out there?' He gestured with his chin toward the rest of the town and beyond.

'Quietest damn Sunday night I've ever seen. I think the Cossayuharie Killer's keeping everybody home. Or headed down to Saratoga. Paul called in, said he's given out a few tickets on the Schuylerville Road.'

'Jim Cameron's not going to like that.'

'What, tickets? Sure he will. Paul's scoping out the cars from away. No skin off his voters' noses.'

'I meant, people taking their money out of Millers Kill.'

'On a Sunday night?' Lyle blew a raspberry. 'The only things to spend money on in this town are those idiot arcade games at Alltechtronik and a couple ounces of grass. You have to go to Glens Falls to bet on bingo.'

'I dunno about that. I think Geraldine Bain's running a floating canasta game around here. Penny a point.'

Lyle laughed. Russ grinned. They stood side by side, watching the dancers, and for a moment it was like it used to be. The music slid smoothly into a new song, the bandleader's voice sweet and melancholy. I can see, no matter how near you'll be, you'll never belong to me-